


the gift of fear

by ndnickerson



Series: Red Label [19]
Category: Nancy Drew - Keene
Genre: Anniversary, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned are stuck in a closet on their fifth anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the gift of fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



They call it the Windy City but it's hot and still outside, even once the sun has gone down. Jamie is safely with George and Kevin for the night, a rare treat Ned had to pay dearly for, but Hannah needed a break and neither Bess nor Terry are answering their phones.

Every year she has managed to be at least an hour late for their anniversary meal, if she made it at all. This time, though, he is prepared. He left word with her secretary. He set her cell phone to go off as a reminder. He reminded her every morning and night for a week, and every time, she kissed his cheek and assured him that yes, she would break their impromptu tradition and actually show up this time.

Even so, he isn't surprised when 8:05 comes and he's still sitting at their reserved table, alone.

The waiter is eyeing Ned speculatively from across the room, wondering if he is so pathetic an individual as to have made up a fake anniversary for a fake girlfriend, when his cell phone finally rings. He forces himself to calm down before answering, more harshly than he intended, "Where are you?"

All he can hear on the other end is breathing.

"Nancy?"

He has to strain to hear her, over the din of the restaurant. "Um... I need some help."

"You got a flat tire," he says, flatly, not believing a word of it.

"Not... exactly."

"Nancy, I swear to God, if you—"

"Ned, please," she hisses.

He bangs his closed fist on the table without even hearing the china shake. "I told you to wait until the morning."

"I couldn't," she whispers defensively. "Look, I promise, I'll make it up to you, but right now, I need you to help me."

The waiter is clearly skeptical when Ned motions for him. "I'm so sorry you were called away, sir. Will that be all?"

"I'll take a.... no, make that two bottles of Pinot Noir. If you can get them to me in the next five minutes."

When he reaches the office building, Ned sits for a moment, staring at the wide picture windows framing the lobby. The sunset reflects there, brilliant, turning everything opaque.

He can't be caught.

He knows there are certain men in the force who can work security on the weekends, work as bouncers outside strip clubs, who spend their days off drinking as much beer as they possibly can. He's never been one of them. Whether he's wearing the gun or not, he finds the mindset very difficult to turn off, because Nancy had been cultivating it in him for practically the entire length of their relationship.

He had been finding it difficult enough to agree to this when it was a thousand times more innocuous. Nancy, though... sometimes all she has to do is gaze at him with those blue eyes glowing, and it's all he can do to keep himself from giving in to whatever she wants.

Not the same, though. Not now.

Getting into the building is tricky, especially in the suit, but he charms his way past a new night receptionist and thumbs Nancy's number on speed dial as he hits the stairs.

"My battery's dying," she answers, voice still hushed.

"Then tell me how to find you, quick."

He physically aches for his gun when he finds the floor she's on and passes quietly through the stair passage, up to the frosted-glass facing of the insurance company. The visual search for the alarm panel is over immediately. The armed light is pulsing in a steady glow, promising swift retribution and the arrival of some work buddies, should he be unlucky.

He stands stock-still for a moment, then risks a knock for the benefit of the security cameras, glancing around to find their line of sight. Absently tossing a handful of loose change in his pocket, he wanders over to a locked supply closet safely outside the cameras' sphere, then picks the weak lock, tallying up his first offense of the evening almost absently.

Acoustic tiles. Perfect.

The door doesn't lock from the inside, of course, because cleaning supplies don't need such security. He settles for shutting the door firmly, frowning at it. The supply closet smells sharply of pine and is lined with wire racks, which prove sturdy enough when he tests them.

Nancy.

There are two problems, he thinks, as he drops to the floor behind the receptionist's desk and brushes at his knees. Climbing on acoustic tiles isn't very covert; it only works in loud environments and empty offices. And Nancy's almost sure that at least four people haven't left for the night, one of whom is sitting right in front of the only door to her closet.

Ten minutes and four ice cubes later, every movement taken with careful deliberation and the utmost caution, Ned waits out of sight behind the threshold of the conference room. The hushed conversation behind the door is full of sighs and irritation, and for a while he considers going back, dismantling everything, waiting for them to walk out. He has to jump out of the way when one of them heads out of the conference room to make a pot of coffee.

So they aren't leaving anytime soon.

Ned's heart pounds until he hears the enormous protracted crash, and three men, various levels of alarm on their faces, glance up.

"Holy shit, you guys have to see this."

They stroll out, eager for the distraction, and Ned slips into the room, his heart hammering in his chest. He heads directly for the closet on the opposite wall, and he's almost reached it when it opens a crack, and he sees Nancy gazing out at him.

"We don't have time for this," Ned hears, and they're too far away to make it out of the room, so he ducks inside and Nancy closes the door very, very quietly and they stand gazing at each other in the near-dark.

She doesn't say anything for a minute. They're practically nose-to-nose; well, nose-to-collarbone, since she's in low heels. Little space to maneuver. And now, if anything, the situation is fractionally worse.

"What the fuck, Nan," he hisses, very very quietly, the silence so loud and still that he can hear his heart pounding. "I said, I told you, a hundred times, to wait until the morning."

She sighs, her blue eyes flaring as she stares up at him. He has to admit that she looks damned gorgeous, in a lightweight cream-colored shirtdress that clings to her curves, cut low in the front and high at the thigh. She's wearing a diamond pendant he gave her, but on a different gold chain, so that the gem winks out at him from just above her breasts.

"Why, so you could get a warrant?"

"Yes! No," he temporizes. From force of habit, although it almost never works the way he wants, he steps in close to her, trying to intimidate her with his size, to force her to back down. It just makes her glare all the sharper. "We had plans tonight."

"To eat dinner," she shrugs, and her voice is low, soft, bringing to mind nights when they, for fear of waking their son, made love with the gentlest of movements, the barest of whispers, no louder than the sound of his palm as he stroked a hand down over her smooth skin.

He shifts his weight, flushing in the dark. He had sex on the brain all day long, and being this close to her isn't helping.

"Five years," he says, keeping his voice soft and level only with supreme effort.

Her delicate brows knit, and she has a look on her face that he knows all too well. She's trying to think of a way to explain to him that she's right. She tries to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, biting one raspberry-ripe lip.

"They'll be gone at midnight."

"And you know that how?"

She crosses her arms under her breasts, in a movement that immediately draws his gaze until he remembers his own attempts at manipulation. "I was just here to see what I could find out before I had to meet you," she begins, sounding defensive.

"And you didn't tell me..."

"Because I knew you'd act this way!" she hisses in frustration, throwing her hands up, her fingertips brushing his shoulder. They don't have enough room for dramatic gestures. "Besides, if I hadn't come, I wouldn't know about the deadline!"

"Damn, you're right!" he quietly shoots back, anger flaring in his eyes. "This all just went according to plan! You knew all along that you'd end up locked in a damn closet, which, may I remind you, it doesn't do us a damn bit of good to know about midnight if we can't get out of here!"

"We'll think of something," she says, and before she would have fooled him, but now she can see that flicker of doubt in her eyes.

He sighs. "You don't think," he accuses her softly, crossing his own arms. "You go off half-cocked and we end up in some situation like this. Do you remember what I told you, while I was at the academy?"

"You told me a lot of things when you were at the academy," she murmurs, staring at some point over his right shoulder.

"We... _I_ can't do this," he corrects softly, putting his hands on her shoulders, searching her gaze, while she pointedly doesn't look at him. "I can't get caught like this."

She finally meets his eyes. "So why even fucking bother coming here," she spits, twisting away from him. Her shoulder barely brushes one of the shelves, and they both hold their breath for a moment, but there are no footsteps approaching their closet, no sign that they're about to be found out. "If it's so important, why not just leave me here to... oh, that's right, I don't think, do I. I'm just a helpless little girl who can't keep her impulses under control."

He glares at her. "Stop putting words in my mouth."

"You're doing a damn good job of it yourself," she shoots back, stepping forward, and it's then he realizes that she's not in low heels, she's in bare feet, to keep her shoes from scraping against the floor and alerting someone. Bare feet and a skirt, blue eyes blazing.

Down, boy, he thinks, trying to focus.

"I'm just sick of you... treating tonight, this night, the first night we're going to be able to spend alone together in ages, like it's some inconvenience."

She raises her eyebrows in feigned surprise. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Cute," he snarls softly.

"No, really." She steps even closer, and he can smell her perfume, something light and deep and exotic, rising with the warmth of her skin. She only uses it on special occasions because he gave it to her, on the vehement suggestion of the woman at the fragrance counter, and now it makes him think of silk and the open challenge of desire in her eyes when she would slip out of her dress, leaving her naked save the wink of jewelry and shimmer of color on her lips and cheeks, sprawling on the bed in wordless and undeniable invitation.

He gives up the fight then, finally.

"I don't understand why you keep thinking you're going to make me change," she says quietly, her tone icy, clipped. "I never tried to make myself look like anything other than what I am, when I was with you. So this? God, how can you be so arrogant?"

He takes a step closer to her, so close their bodies are almost touching. "And when have I been any different from this? So incredibly fucking blind in love with you, and so terrified that one day who you are is going to get you killed?"

Her eyes are suddenly wet and his long-healed wound throbs in his chest, and without letting himself think about it he wraps his arms around her and pulls her in tight, and she buries her face against his shirt.

"You and your big damn hero complex."

"You and _your_ big damn hero complex," he tells her, kissing her hair.

"We almost didn't get this far," she murmurs, her fingertips playing lightly against the back of his neck, and he shivers.

"Nan," he protests.

Her eyes are blazing even more furiously now. "Two inches," she hisses. "You can't tell me that's not too close."

"And this isn't?"

She keeps up the glare for a moment more, then drops her gaze to his mouth. "Ned..."

He lets her hang for a little while longer. "Apology accepted," he says softly, and she still looks a bit mutinous, but then she puts her head against his shoulder and sighs to herself.

"So what do we do?"

She is smirking a little. "Feels like you want to skip right to dessert."

He has to admit that the thought of fucking her with four bad guys about ten feet away, if he disregards the immediate and serious consequences of being caught, isn't altogether unappealing. They never have better sex than right after an argument, even if this is the one they never seem to stop having.

"Yeah, well."

"What did you do to get in here?"

He can't help his grin. "Set up a very elaborate diversion," he says, and explains. "We just have to find some way to get all four of them out of here long enough to get out."

"So you set up something else on some kind of time delay?" she asks hopefully.

He shakes his head. "It would've been obvious."

"If your cell's still charged, we can call 911 with a report about smoke coming out of this building."

"Maybe, but would that get all four of them out of the room? Plus I'd have to whisper to the operator."

"They could evacuate the building."

"And go straight to their midnight rendezvous from here, and then..." He shrugs.

"You're such a pessimist."

"And you're so the kind of girl who would get me into this kind of situation."

She looks down. "I really am sorry," she says softly. "I wanted tonight to be special, too."

"I can see that."

She glances from the diamond pendant back to his appreciative stare, and smiles a little. "I know I... this has to be really frustrating for you."

"Oh, Nan. Totally fucking insane is more like it."

"I can't help it."

"You don't want to," he corrects her, lifting her chin. "And most of the time I don't want you to, either."

His mouth still tastes like wine, and she parts her lips to his immediately, standing on her tiptoes. He backs her up, feeling for the back wall with his fingertips, and pins her against it, hips grinding against hers insistently.

"You're wearing hose, aren't you."

"Knew there was a reason I shouldn't have," she murmurs back, grinning. "Want to help me take them off?"

He pushes the hem of her dress up and hooks his thumbs under the elastic of her pantyhose, pausing for a moment. "Please tell me you don't care about ever wearing these again," he murmurs, his breath warm against her ear, and she shivers.

And then she's suddenly stock still, looking over his shoulder again with such rapt attention that for a moment he thinks they've been caught. "Actually, I have a better idea," she says, her voice rushed with excitement. "Do you have a condom with you?"

He releases her and begins to feel in his pockets for his wallet, raising an eyebrow. "I think you'd still ruin your hose if you were on your knees. Not that I'm complaining," he adds quickly.

She smacks him very lightly and quietly. "Not that," she hisses. "Remember that time we were on that yacht off the coast in Belize and we were stuck in the engine room?"

He grunts softly. "Had nightmares about it for a week," he says, finally finding the condom by touch.

"Well, this was the first idea I had," she admits, ducking her head a little. "But then... well."

He makes a quietly shocked noise. "Really. That explains why you were so red when we got out of there. You little poser, you were still making my balls blue for years after that."

"Yeah, well." She gently adjusts his tie, addressing it instead of him. "I've been trying to make up for that."

"So how does the condom come into it?"

She gropes around in the dark for her purse for a moment, coming back up with a delicate scarf, which she winds around her hair, hiding as much as she can. "Put those on," she says, nodding at the shelf to his left.

"Work coveralls?"

"I," she says, flipping her skirt up and carefully peeling her pantyhose down, "am a lonely, overworked secretary staying late to finish up some reports and you are the fucking hot temporary window washer, who managed to catch my eye on my salad-damned lunch break, and the promise of no-strings-attached workplace-friendly sex was too much for me to resist. You'll be gone in a few days, but we can't get enough of each other, and after a vigorous interlude in the closet earlier, we fell asleep, and now, my dear..." She lurns on her tiny penlight, reading the stitched name badge on his purloined coveralls, "Toby, before we head our separate ways, you're going to suggest we have another round of inhibition-free sex, since we're here by ourselves and you find me irresistible." He watches in speechless fascination as she pushes her panties down, tucking them in her purse.

"I love it when you want to role-play," he admits, studying her. "Plausible? Barely. And the condom comes in how, as part of the act?"

"Put it on, and, you know," she makes a vague gesture, "a few times, and take it off, so it looks like we've been in here a while."

"Right," he drawls, slowly opening the foil packet. "And why can't I just be one of your coworkers?"

"Because then we'd be at my apartment or yours," she says, reaching under her dress to pull her bra up above her breasts, her already-peaked nipples showing against the fabric. "Besides, this way, they see the coverall, not your face."

"And you're not giving me head because...?"

She puts her hands on her hips and takes a step toward him, and he's not sure how but he can already feel her arousal, as she peers at him from under her lashes. "Because Toby is going to fuck Darlene against the closet wall, with her legs spread wide, with her nails digging into his back," she tells him, her voice a breathy, sultry whisper. "Hard. Loud. So deep that she screams." She unzips his fly and gently pulls his cock out, slowly massaging the base. "Unless you'd rather bang against the wall and moan while I suck you off."

"Good point," he pants, sighing in disappointment as she releases him and bends down over her purse again. He flips the hem of her dress up above her bare ass and she lets out a soft, startled squeak before coming back up with a pair of small wire-rimmed glasses, to complete her disguise.

"Condom," she reminds him, blinking at him through the prescription-free lenses.

He rolls it on, and his heart is pounding again. "You sure you can do this?" he asks, seriously.

"Yeah," she says, but her eyes falter. As publicly affectionate as she is, as exhibitionist as she can be, it's almost always an act, either in a disguise or for someone else's benefit, usually his own. His role is easy; she'll be the one exposed, playing it off, drawing attention to them so they can get out.

He swallows hard and leans in close to her, his body not quite touching hers, his mouth near her ear. "Your hair would be messed up," he whispers, "if we had just slept together," and she reaches up to work her fingers through it, under the scarf. "And, baby, I love you, I would never hurt you, and if I could I would kiss every inch of you, every perfect inch of you, I would show you how much every single second we've spent together means to me. I'd push your legs open and put my tongue inside you and taste you, I would worship you, I would suck on your clit until you wanted me so bad that you'd touch yourself, and then, when you were shaking, and begging me, then I'd fuck you until you screamed, until I could feel you go tight and wet around my cock. When we get home, baby, that's what I'm going to do to you. Are you wet for me?"

"Yes," she moans, her voice shaking a little. "God, I love when you do that."

He pushes her up, boosting her so she can wrap her legs around him, and true to her word, with his first thrust there is no friction against the condom, just the wet smooth slide of her slick with welcome and desire. She bites her lip, arching to take him deeper as he pins her with another thrust, another, and she groans a little too loudly when he, shaking with the energy it takes, forces himself to pull away and strip the condom off. The scent of sex, of them, fresh and warm, manages to make him somehow even harder, and when she wraps her legs around him this time he rams his hips hard to hers, slamming her ass against the wall, and there's fear in her eyes. They're going to hear.

"They will not touch you," he vows, holding her gaze as he thrusts into her again, and she sucks in a swift breath. "I swear they will not touch you. You need to scream."

Her lips part but she can't, the panic is rising in her eyes, and he adjusts the angle of her hips, thrusting a little harder, and only then do her eyes close, only then does a small whimpered sigh escape her.

"You're Darlene and you have never been fucked like this, and you never will be again," he whispers roughly right into her ear, and he holds her ass and drives himself into her relentlessly, over and over, the silk-smooth clench of her inner flesh against his cock making him pant and moan in frustration.

"Now."

Her scream is somehow quiet at first, until he grabs her hair and pulls it savagely, until he presses his hips flush to hers, pinning her against the wall as he roughly grasps her breasts. She's terrified.

He is too.

When the door opens he has to fight his immediate urge to release her. Instead, holding her gaze, he pumps into her one more time, making sure they have time to take in the entire scene, then releases her abruptly, supporting her so she doesn't collapse on her suddenly wobbly legs.

"Hey," one of them says, but one of the others snickers.

"Oh my God, I thought..." Nancy's voice is shaking, which fits perfectly, and a fierce blush is rising in her cheeks. "Oh God."

"What the hell were you two doing in here?" one of the other guys says, as Ned zips up his coverall, making sure his suit can't be seen before he turns around.

"Look," the third man says, and Ned can't help but color a little as the other men see the condom, realize its implications. "You two been in here all this time?"

"I guess we... fell asleep," Nancy says lamely, adjusting her bra, turning back to face them and pick up her purse.

"Something like that," the second guy snickers.

"You can't be in here after hours," the first guy says sternly, even while the others are shooting glances behind his back, tittering, juvenile.

"Sorry, sir."

"Sorry," Ned mutters in unison, moving forward, ducking his head. He takes his wife's hand and leads her past them, both of their heads bowed, the very epitome of the walk of shame.

She's almost shaking with adrenalin by the time the disapproving man and his snickering cronies let them out. Ned squeezes her hand and scans the hallway, and she's almost running, her breath coming in jerky gasps.

"Here," he murmurs, pulling her into another maintenance closet off the hallway, jerking the coverall's zipper down as soon as the door is closed, squirming out of it. The bare bulb overhead clicks on with the tug of a string and she's twisting her hands.

"God," she whispers. "Thanks."

He nods, and his cock, still uncomfortably hard, is radiating sheer, utter need, insisting that if he doesn't get inside her now, he will die.

He steps in close to her and before she can even fully register what he's doing he bends down and kisses her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his other hand trailing up from beneath the hem of her dress, and he urges her legs apart, drawing one fingertip up until he finds her clit, his other fingers sliding immediately to the wet hollow between her thighs, her flesh clenching weakly in return.

"I need you," he apologizes against her mouth, and he hears himself cry out when she wraps her legs around him and his cock fits tight inside her again, his hips shaking, and he needs to bring her release, he knows, but he can only roughly fondle her clit for the too-few thrusts it takes him to reach orgasm. She is shaking, arching insistently, and as he slams his cock hilt-deep in her and lets himself come, he keeps stroking her clit, as she pants against his neck and digs her nails into his shoulders.

"God, oh sweet God," she cries out, the shiver starting between her legs and radiating through her shoulders, in her voice. "Oh," she sobs, her hips thrusting against his, rotating against his still-pulsing cock. She writhes against him and he pushes the hem of her dress even higher, pulling down the left cup of her bra so he can take the tight sensitive flesh of her nipple in his mouth, to tug it gently between his teeth.

"Ned," she sighs, and he pulls back, to see her flushed and sated, gazing into his eyes.

"Okay?"

She sucks in a long breath and lets it out slowly, then nods. "I never want to do anything like that again."

"Me either," he agrees, pulling her bra back in place. "We left DNA back there."

"I grabbed the condom," she tells him, digging in her purse again. She pulls her panties back on, tugs her dress back into place, pulls the glasses off.

He makes a face. "So we left slightly less DNA back there."

She adjusts his tie and he untangles the scarf, finger-combing her hair, making a further mess of it. She chuckles and twists it up into a messy ponytail, shoving the scarf back into her purse.

"Besides, what were you doing with a condom, Nickerson?" she asks, slipping back into her low heels.

"I never know when you're going to get me stuck in a closet and demand that I pretend to be a temp window washer named Toby," he returns, with a wry grin. "I always try to be prepared. Although the Boy Scouts never quite prepared me for that."

She chuckles. "I think you owe me dinner," she muses. "And, if I heard you right, oral sex."

"That was just to get you hot for me," he scoffs, then pokes his head out of the closet, scanning the hallway for further pitfalls.

"Nice try."

He sighs, as they step out of the closet, making last-minute adjustments to their clothes, shy as teenagers, their hands still clasped.

"Happy fifth anniversary, Nan."

"Happy fifth anniversary, Ned."


End file.
